


Maestro

by flowerpeddler



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff, Musicians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24070402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerpeddler/pseuds/flowerpeddler
Summary: The tug on your heartstrings seems a lot like the minor scale coming from his violin. [kageyama tobio/reader]
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 47





	1. da capo

Choosing your education over music: it's a common, recurring theme in most Japanese households, and yours is no exception.

Once a musician, always a musician-

...Right? Maybe not.

Your relationship with the crinkled sheets has been a delicate one ever since you were five and old enough to learn just exactly what the small dots on lined papers meant. There was a fine line between playing for the sake of your parents and playing because finishing a piece gave you satisfaction. Over the years, it evolved into something stronger.

You started playing because of your greed.

There was just nothing else like the delight of tackling notoriously difficult pieces. Your hunger could never be satiated from the vindication of just one piece- no, you needed more and craved music like how a starved man would lust after a juicy steak.

When you turned ten, you won first place in the local piano competition. Frankly, it wasn't like you didn't care about your parents' pride and glee upon seeing the results, but the feeling of gratification was yours to claim. And how _addicting_ that first victory had been; it was like nothing you've ever tasted before. It was then that you started demanding harder pieces and that your obsession with piano soared to heights your parents could hardly fathom but supported you anyways.

"Congratulations, sweetie! Aren't you happy?" your mother smiled at you.

"Uh huh," is all you said as you stared at your award in amazement.

You couldn't get enough- especially when the raven-haired boy next door started asking you to accompany his violin recitals.

Kageyama Tobio. You've known him since you were in diapers, and your parents are still close to each other to this day. He's the very epitome of a prodigy, and you swore you heard the violin weep with fulfillment when he first played for you. The deftness of his fingers was comparable to yours. With the way your classmates listened in awe or the way his older sister, who was practically your own sister at this point, cheered the two of you on, the two of you were easily the most unstoppable youth's musician duo of Miyagi.

"I don't really like how my accompanist plays," he had admitted to you on that fateful evening. "I like how you do- wanna start playing together?"

In middle school, competitions were a breeze. He played so beautifully, so absolutely, and you always kept up with him. He demanded too much from his accompanists? He was a ruthless emperor requiring only the best? Yeah, right. Whoever couldn't keep up with him was just untalented, in your honest opinion.

And maybe... he was the only one worthy of your secret affections _because_ of the way he played. You were practically a queen when it came to the ivory keys, and you would never dare to even consider dating someone who couldn't sight-read as well as you could. Though you supposed you could make an exception if Kageyama-kun ever asked you out.

Then high school came.

You stopped competing by the time your second year rolled around. It wasn't like your parents wanted you to stop playing; in fact, they've expressed their sorrow whenever you refused to play the piano sitting idly in your living room.

All that happened was that you just discovered a new love, a new obsession: physics.

"The whole world can be explained in math!" you say excitedly, shoving your textbook in your father's face.

"I thought you hated math?" he chuckled, eyeing the equations on the book.

"Yeah, but this is different! It's math with _purpose_!"

Your days of practice morphed into days of research or experimentation. Why did some objects fall faster than others? Just how powerful are magnets? Could those actors on TV _really_ make that jump? You could just calculate it! It wasn't like you were betraying music- music _was_ physics, especially when you considered the mechanics of sound waves.

Kageyama stopped talking to you when he realized you spent your afternoons with the physics club. It was only natural; the only thing the two of you had in common were your childhoods and music itself. Of course he'd stop talking to you when you stopped playing.

You tried not to be hurt. This was how he was, after all. Why on Earth would he even bother to talk to you if not about music? Because he had some crush on you? Sure, and pigs would start flying the next day. When it came down to it, he only spoke to you because of music and not because he saw you as anything other than some childhood friend or an accompanist.

"Stupid Tobio," you had muttered over your physics homework that night. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

When the two of you got into Tokyo University, you could hardly believe it. As the president of Karasuno's physics club and one of the highest ranking students in your year, it came to you as no surprise. Instead, the shocking part was Kageyama himself; he's always been horrible at his studies and consistently placed in the bottom ranks every term. Violin scholarship or not, how the hell did he manage to get accepted in Japan's top university with those abysmal grades?

By now, he's a fleeting memory in your past, and you spend your days learning or being a TA for the introductory physics class.

"I swear to God, all my students are butt-fucking stupid," you grumbled, crossing a red X over some poor student's exam over and over again. "This kid hasn't even gotten a single thing right yet! It's introductory physics!"

One of your closest friends in the year above you, Shirabu, glances up from his textbook. "Wow, really?" he comments, tilting his head to get a better glance at the paper. "Poor Bokuto. I bet he wiggled his way here through a sport scholarship or something."

"No kidding," you grunt, finally marking a question right on his exam. "He finally just got one right. Poor guy- I hope he doesn't have to retake this class next semester." You've talked to the guy only a few times when he had a few questions, and he seems nice enough, though a total meathead when it came to basic kinematics.

"Maybe you should give him some partial credit to be nice," Shirabu suggests, going back to his studying.

"Looks I'll have to," you sigh, finally finishing up the grading. 53%. Not bad for him and the current class average. Maybe if the professor was feeling generous, the curve will be extra pretty for them.

A dark shadow looms over the table the two of you are at, but you hardly notice it through all the grading you have to finish up. When you don't look up, your companion taps his pen on your paper to grab your attention before motioning towards the new figure standing next to the table.

Your eyes widen when you realize who it is. "Tobio-kun?"

He's grown out his hair since high school, but you can recognize those eyes from anywhere. They're eyes you've spent your entire childhood memorizing, and you hate to admit that they're still just as mesmerizing from when the two of you were eleven and winning every competition to date. He looks more toned, but that's not as surprising since you've heard from his parents that he's been playing casual volleyball ever since his first year in college with a neighborhood team in his free time.

"(Name), have you been well?"

"Um, well enough, I guess," you mumble. "Is something the matter?"

He hesitates for a moment, and from the corners of your eyes, you can see your senpai glance over at you curiously. "Not particularly. I have a request for you."

"Okay..." you start slowly, shifting your entire attention to him at this point. "What is it?"

His eyes burn right into yours. "Please be my accompanist for my recital at the end of spring."


	2. overture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> overture: an orchestral piece at the beginning of an opera, suite, play, oratorio, or other extended composition.

That night, you thrash around in your dorm room in frustration as you recall the brief and unforeseen encounter with your old childhood friend.

An accompanist...

Is that all Kageyama has ever thought of you as? For the past _however_ many years you've played with him, would you only be labelled as the pianist next door? It feels undeniably unfair. You want to be remembered as yourself- a friend he could turn to or someone to gush over Vivaldi with- anything but just a lowly accompanist. The thought leaves a sour taste in your mouth, like rotten lemons.

You pause, sadly stuffing a pillow under your chin. Yeah, right.

As if the two of you could ever bypass the past and meet the requirements of being friends again. It just isn't likely if you aren't a music major like him considering music is what keeps him alive and breathing; when had been the last time you played for leisure? You can hardly even remember. What does the piano feel like again? Can you even recall the most basic of music theory you had once studied for hours on end?

Even if you had agreed to his terms earlier today, there's no way you'd be ready to play alongside him by May. That would only give you less than a year to prepare for such an important recital in his college career. After all, he's been continuously honing his skills throughout the years while you've stopped playing completely. With that big of a difference in your skills, it's too unrealistic to dream about playing with him again.

Your open laptop _pings_ with an email notification, harshly and ruthlessly reminding you that your music days are over. What does it matter when you have a few more exams to grade for your professor anyways?

"Sorry, Tobio-kun," you apologize out loud before crawling back to your desk to check the email about some summer camp dealing with recital preparations. It's from your old piano teacher, but you don't bother replying to her. "Guess you'll have to find someone else."

Not like it's hard for Kageyama; Tokyo University has tons of talented and superb musicians. You wonder why he had put in the effort to single you out when he has a myriad of classmates to choose from. Your glory days are practically over, and he has a better chance with some other pianist. Is he just homesick and wants you there to remind him of the countryside in Miyagi?

Red pen in hand, you shove away any thoughts of the raven-haired man and focus back on the papers in your folders.

The rest of your night passes with red X's and check marks as you try to distract yourself with more physics.

Then, the next day, you decide to grab something to drink from the library's coffee shop right after your afternoon classes. Head throbbing with exhaustion, you just need _something_ to caffeinate you before you open your office hours for the day. Maybe something sweet... 

"Hi- a caramel macchiato, please." You glance back up at the menu, debating on if you should get a blueberry muffin with your order. No, you'd just end up spoiling your dinner for tonight. "Could I get that upside-down and iced?

The exhausted barista smiles at you. "Will you be paying with cash or card today?" she asks sweetly, jotting your order in on the tablet before looking back at you expectantly.

"Card, please-." A silver card is inserted into the chip machine before you can pull out your own. Whose hand is that? Eyes trailing up the arm connected to that card, you finally lock eyes with familiar midnight blue ones.

"Tobio-kun?" you nearly sputter out as he signs his name on the tablet in front of you. "Why did you do that?" you look at him in half annoyance and half bewilderment.

Kageyama avoids your gaze, shrugging nonchalantly- just like how he's always done since you were kids. "(Name)- can we talk for a bit?" he asks quietly, finally mustering the courage to look at you..

Already, you can tell what this is about- the freaking recital. The thought of having to turn him down again makes you groan internally, but you feel obligated to hear him out as thanks for the coffee. Not wanting to hold up the line behind you, you nod curtly and grab his arm to pull him away to the side. Another barista places the coffee on the counter, and you pick it up, relishing the coolness of the plastic cup.

"Thanks for the coffee. You really didn't have to..." you mumble, the green straw muffling your words as the two of you sit down at an empty table.

The coffee is sweet and nostalgic. Rich and dark, the taste of roasted coffee beans balanced with the sweet flavor of childhood caramel never fails to perk up your spirits. It's a treat you've always gotten whenever you felt down or groggy in the past few years you've been in school, but somehow, it tastes even better today. Even if Kageyama only wants to talk about his recital, it's still a nice feeling to finally sit down to chat with him after all this years.

You'd never say it out loud, but it seems like you've missed him more than you had expected.

"It's fine," he says, looking down at your hands. "You... you..." he struggles for a moment, and the sight is almost endearing to you. "Why didn't you agree yesterday?" he finally manages to piece together his thoughts.

His eyes are impossibly sapphire. "I haven't played piano in years, Tobio," you finally admit to him. It's a conversation the two of you have never got to- until now. "I'm not a performer anymore."

"I bet you can still play," he points out, frowning. "You're good at piano- better than most of my classmates, even."

"Most, not all," you say, leaning back into your chair. "That's mean there must be someone better than me, right? Why not just ask them? It'll be easier for the both of us."

He ignores everything you've said. "...It's just one recital," he says.

It's a precious, beautiful lie that he doesn't even know he's telling you. You know for a fact that it's not just one recital. It's hours and days of practice with him, the very boy who had more or less discarded you when you had lost interest in music. The very boy who had wrung your heart dry when he never came to check up on you or find out the reason why you stopped playing. In all honesty, you aren't sure if you can handle the hours upon hours of confronting any ghosts of your unrequited love that you _think_ have disappeared.

If he cares this much, how come he had never come to speak to you again since you've abdicated the title of Miyagi's piano princess? Your throat runs dry at the thought, and you feel like you're suffocating or drowning under the aqua blue of his eyes.

"You know I can't do that. I don't play anymore. Listen, I need to go set up my office hours. It was good seeing you, okay?" you reach over to squeeze his hand before you leave.

Kageyama doesn't move and doesn't react. Sighing, you pick up your bag and the coffee cup to head over to the physics building where the designated TA meeting rooms are. With another pensive and mildly mournful look back at him, you exit the room that smells like him and coffee beans.

It's still absurdly warm in Tokyo; in fact, the iced coffee hardly does anything to ease the walk to the physics building in this sweltering heat of August air. The condensation of the cup feels cool, but you know it's a sign that your ice cold drink is slowly starting to melt to a lukewarm temperature and will be useless to you in a matter of minutes.

"(Name), wait."

"Huh?" you take a peek behind you to see the violinist. You wonder how he can wear a hoodie in this weather.

"It has to be you," he declares once he's caught up with you. "There's no one else who can do it except for you."

His words make the late summer heat impossible to bear with the way your face flares up with the intensity of blue fires. How can he say that so blatantly? The two of you are still in public! Quickly, you look around you to see if anyone had heard Kageyama's bold declaration.

"Tobio-kun!" you hiss.

"...It's my parents," he finally says after you finish gawking at him. "I want to finish my music degree and become a composer, but they don't think it's a stable career for me in the end. I think if I can compose enough songs and perform well at my recital in spring, they won't force me to change my intentions. And it has to be you since you know them," he insists, frowning.

Your mouth falls open in surprise. "They... don't want you to major in music anymore? Come walk with me." You still need to make it to your own office hours, after all.

He follows you diligently. "That's why it has to be you. If I can convince them with this recital with your help, I can keep playing- otherwise this will be my last recital," he mumbles, clearly worried. "Miwa tried helping me, but..." he trails off.

"But even if I know them, will it really help your case?"

"Yes," comes the immediate response. "They still ask about you. I'm sure they'd rather me play with you than anyone else."

His comment brings a small smile to your face. "Do they? So do my parents. Maybe our families should spend New Year's together like we used to," you joke before coming to a stop in front of the physics building. "Just kidding..."

You can't imagine how awkward it would be to force him to spend the holidays together again. It's better to just leave these things to your parents.

"Then play with me again," Kageyama urges, turning to you. His eyes are like cerulean lakes, and for a split second, your heart leaps into your throat at the sight. "...Please?" he adds, averting his gaze in embarrassment.

You almost laugh at loud. He's still the same as middle school. You've heard rumors of his emperor-like demands dwindling away during high school, but you had never witnessed the apparent changes of his character. To you, it's a bit nostalgic and cute to know that no matter how much development he's gone through your last practice together, he's still the same awkward and endearing boy you had admired in middle school.

"How are you so sure they'll change their mind?" you ask softly.

You know his parents, but you can't be too confident that they'd be willing to agree to their son's plans. It's harsh, but you can understand their intentions. Music has always been a mercurial career, and there's no guarantee he'll be able to become a famous composer, no matter how impeccable and talented his playing and music sense is. It's a form of tough love that the Kageyama family is well-known for, so you aren't sure about the implications of his sudden decisions.

"Uh... instinct?"

"Instinct, huh?" you muse. "Tobio-"

"Hey! (Name)! Are your office hours open now?" the two of you turn to a bouncing student that you recognize from your professor's lecture classes. "I wanna go over some homework problems!"

You turn to the violinist before offering him a wry smile. "Why don't we talk about this later? I don't have too much time on my hands right now."

"Right..." he looks away before sighing. "I'll try to find you another time then."

As you guide the excited student into the physics building, you wave goodbye to your childhood friend. The student, Bokuto-kun from your professor's ten AM class, continues to blabber on about the _impossibly, stupidly hard_ homework, but you hardly notice him when the urge to play something suddenly overwhelms you.

You wonder what this burning itch in your hands means.


	3. adagio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adagio: performed in a slow, deliberate tempo

The next time your eyes land on Kageyama Tobio, you brace yourself as he walks towards you with those long strides with his.

You want to say yes to the question in his eyes; since the last time you've seen him, your fingers have itched to graze the ivory keys you had once called your best friend. The unnatural yet warmly nostalgic sensation of your heart soaring only grows stronger as his sapphire irises beg you to play alongside him, but the tugging of your stomach restrains any hope in you.

It just isn't meant to be; you're made for the kinematics of physics and electromagnetism. How could you forget your future plans for any childhood whims or the sake of music? Grad school is just barely within your reach, and these days, you don't have time to fool around with a piano for an hour, let alone six months. Risking your applications and time terrifies you to the bone, and frankly, you aren't sure if you can handle the pressure of handling the future of his college career. Why is it your responsibility to help him when he has barely even reached out to you over the past few years?

When he finally asks that same, redundant question again, the cowardice surging in your blood forces you to finally say no.

And you wait.

You wait for the frown to settle on his face, the pleading, the insisting, but none of it comes. Instead, Kageyama just nods and asks if you'd like to have dinner with him, and when you ask him why, he offers you a faint smile that makes your esophagus close up. After all these years, he's still so exquisite. 

"We haven't talked in so long," he reminds you, scratching the back of his head as he speaks. "I'll buy you dinner to make up for the past few years."

You raise an eyebrow at this. "Are you trying to buy me into changing my mind?" you ask, but before you know it, you're walking alongside him as he takes you to where he _promises_ is the greatest restaurant in Tokyo.

The temperature has dropped by a few degrees today, and you welcome the soft, evening breeze that tickles your bare thighs. As the two of you walk further away from campus, the sounds of the city come to life; the purring of cars, the giggling of school girls walking by, the buzzing of cell phones are things you've grown accustomed to in the past two years of university. It's so familiar yet so unknown, and suddenly you can't bring yourself to care.

You're three-hundred kilometers from Miyagi, but strangely enough, next to him you feel right at home.

He instantly heats up, pale cheeks bleeding red as he averts his gaze, stammering incessantly. "Huh?! No! It's just... It was nice to finally talk to you again, and I wish I had talked to you earlier," he finally admits after sputtering out useless excuses that you giggled at.

"The school year just started," you point out, giving him an odd look.

"I meant like... in high school or something. It might have been nice to walk home together like we used to, I-I don't know," he murmurs, still refusing to meet your eyes like you're the modern reincarnation of Medusa.

Oddly enough, the bitterness you had once felt for him has slithered away. "Yeah," you agree. "It might have been."

The two of you walk in pleasant, mutual silence that blankets you like soft silk. You can't quite place the unusual feeling in your chest; is it the remnants of your childhood crush or the beginnings of a fresh friendship? Walking beside him has reinforced your understanding of just how much and how differently the two of you have grown. He practically towers over you, and there's a strength in his shoulders that has been absent in his juvenile days. Your sneaky, side-ways glances at him don't stop, even when a handful of young schoolchildren come barreling towards you.

"Hey! Watch out," Kageyama scolds when you're almost trampled by the gaggle of nine-year olds.

His grip on your upper arm as he tugs you away from the shrieking children feels like a rampant tsunami- unexpected, cold, and jolting. Lithe fingertips linger at your elbow, and your shaky breath converts into the evening air as you look up with him with wide eyes. In the burning rays of the setting sun, his raven-hair gleams gold and salmon, like the embodiment of twilight itself, and you have to tear your gaze away from his mesmerizing expression.

Upon realizing how close the two of you have gotten, he immediately releases you. "D-don't you have eyes?" he chides as calmly as he can, but you have to stifle a laugh when you realize his mannerisms have yet to change- even at the age of twenty. "Those brats would have run you over if I wasn't there."

"If you weren't here, I'd be on my way back home and not walking to a restaurant with you," you protest, warm hands reaching the tops of your hips. "How much walking do we have to do?"

"We're almost there," he defends, taking a sharp right turn. "It's just up ahead."

Stray cats in the alleyway study the two of you, and your steps echo with the splashing of puddles from this morning's drizzle. It's dark and damp, but you loyally follow the glimpse of his broad shoulders, wondering just when he had developed a figure like that.

"I don't know, Tobio-kun..." you say, glancing at the worn path.

"It's practically a hole in the wall, but they serve the best tonkatsu I've ever had," he promises, glancing back at you.

Reluctantly, you continue to follow him until he finally stops in front of a tiny shop. The door is smaller, and the quaint, blue awning hanging over your heads is even tinier. As the two of you squeeze past the entrance, you're immediately greeted with the scent of sweet soy sauce and bonito stock as a beaming older lady seats you down in a sticky booth.

"To-chan! It's been so long since you've come around. Where's Sho-chan? Is he still studying for that exam? Oh, is this your girlfriend?" she shoots questions at the wide-eyed violinist, who heats up.

"N-no!" his response is immediate, and you try not to feel offended. "She's a friend from home! Hinata is busy with a music theory class," he mumbles as the sweet waitress hands you both menus that are greasy to touch.

You greet her warmly before she heads to another table to take some orders, and a dryness in your throat makes it hard for you to breathe. Melancholic eyes droop as you hide your small frown with the menu as you read about the different kind of curry the restaurant has to offer. That's right. When has Kageyama ever seen you as a woman? The only label you'd carry around him is either childhood friend or pianist- nothing more and nothing less. It comes to you as no surprise, and you crush any hopes within you as you continue to study the options in front of you.

The two of you say nothing more, but it doesn't take a genius to assume that the bright, scarlet brush on his cheeks has yet to fade away. Romance is nothing new to you, but by the way he squirms, you can only assume he has yet to date anyone seriously- not that he'd ever consider you.

Kageyama orders curry tonkatsu, eyes shining as he requests for an egg on top- just how he likes it. The older waitress doesn't even blink, like his order is something she's taken for centuries. With a smile, you settle for tempura udon, not caring how hot it is outside.

Finally sick of the silence, you ask him about school. "Are your classes interesting enough this semester?" it's a lame question, but you don't miss the way his eyes light up. It makes you realize just how much he loves music.

"Yeah. The upper composition class I'm in has a lot to offer," he replies shyly but excitedly. "My professor is fine, but he only listens to Mendelssohn and no one else."

"Right. You like Paganini the most, don't you?" you're not sure why you can remember this small detail, but the warm smile on his face melts your insides like a popsicle on a hot summer's day. 

Just like that, it's like the two of you have reverted back to your middle-school selves, talking about anything and everything. Your topics ranged from the ridiculous cellist in his class to the one know-it-all in the class you TA to his mother's old mochi recipes that both of you miss dearly. Even as your entrees reach the table, it takes you longer to finish your meals since every bite is interrupted by a story about him and a bassist from high school, Hinata or old subjects you've remembered.

"That idiot can barely hold a bass correctly," he mutters through a mouthful of pork. "But he's not bad."

"Oh, I remember him! The two of you hung out a lot in high school, right?"

Kageyama rolls his eyes at this before going on a rant about the tangerine-haired male, but you can't help the smile on your face. Even if your friendship had ended in high school, it brings you a sense of relief to know that he's found other people he could rely on. Maybe if you're lucky, tonight would mark the start of a new friendship yet again. A part of you desperately hopes for it.

And just as he had promised, he diligently pays for your meal, and you offer to buy frozen yogurt for the two of you tomorrow after class. With a curious expression, he declines your offer, saying you need to buy him banana milk instead of frozen yogurt, which he considers to be the inferior of dairy products.

You have a hard time stifling your laughter at his remark.

Before you know it, Kageyama is walking you back to your dorm because of how dark the sky has gotten.

"I can't let you walk home at night by yourself, moron," he grumbles, stuffing his hands in his pocket as the two of you trace your steps back towards campus. "If your dad ever found out, I'd be dead."

"If Miwa ever found out, she'd probably kill you again," you remind him, and the grin on your face has stretched your cheeks so far that it hurts.

"Then you better make sure they hire a live orchestra for my funeral."

You feel thirteen again, and puberty has never felt so sweet.


	4. philharmonic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> philharmonic: lover of music/devoted to music; usually used for orchestras

A skip in your step, a lilt in your hum.

The throbbing sensation in your heart can't be quelled as the words in your head dance like two children experiencing puppy love for the very first time. It's sweet. It's tender. Even despite the dotting of sweat on the top of your forehead, there's a prance in your step, urging you to waltz your way to the music building like you're an archer and the building is your target.

Even after weeks of reigniting the ashes of your friendship with Kageyama, he hadn't asked you a single question about music and hadn't offered to play for you once. While it's his decision to keep his practices and playing to yourself, your ears have yet to betray you; if your ears are still this good, why hasn't he asked you to give him advice on his pieces?

Three weeks! And nothing!

Finally, after what had seemed like eons, you had received a sudden text from Kageyama that had you read his text about six times before you could comprehend the message. Finally, the ever elusive musician had invited you to watch the last fifteen minutes of an unofficial practice, where he would get experience in conducting a small orchestra in preparation for the concert at the end of the semester.

You've never been inside the music building before. Upon placing a foot inside, you're met with a blast of icy winds, as if the air conditioning is commanded by the spirit of winter despite the sweltering heat. No matter; the weather would surely cool down now that the days are starting to bleed into September, the first promises of autumn. The lobby smells of spring- fresh daffodils and gentle ivy wafting from the gleaming candles lined on the front desk as a student worker offers you a nod, the clacking of her nails on the keyboard like raindrops hitting the windows.

Thin, metal signs plastered on the walls inform you of the building's offerings. Brass instruments, woodwinds, strings- yes! Your eyes hone in on the sign denoting where the orchestral rooms should be, and suddenly anxiety bubbles within you like the rising helium gas. What are his colleagues like? Would they be annoyed that you'd be watching in on their practice- even if it is unofficial and not proctored? 

Mouth dry as if someone had stuffed a plump wad of cotton between your teeth, you shift in your spot in front of the light wood door, your hand hovering by the faint lettering wedged in the door. A deep breath in and out to still your foolish heart. As your surroundings spin before you, you finally present the door with a firm knock, your fist nudging the solid wood thrice. The door is so sound-proof that you aren't quite sure if someone is heading towards.

Just as you're pulling out your phone to inform Kageyama of your arrival, the door swings open the see cobalt eyes you had been anticipating seeing since the humid August morning. Wide, annoyed, and pleading, his eyes are jarring and dazed, and Kageyama is gripping onto your hand, his grasp resembling that of a child's latching onto his mother.

"I should have told you to come tomorrow instead," he grumbles, but his actions contradict his words when he pulls you into the bustling, chaotic room as musicians vehemently argue with one another.

Traces of sheet music line the floor, the horsehair of a bow on the ground is frayed and unkempt, and you notice a defeated student hiding in the corner. Another sobs into the arpeggio scales of her piano, and a harpist is barking out orders to a group of underclassmen percussionists. The room feels like a pseudo-purgatory as poor souls weep into their instruments and sheet music. As you watch with horror, you can't help but turn to your friend with a bewildered look.

"What happened?!" you all but ask, feeling sick to your stomach when a cello's D string snaps in half.

Kageyama looks pained, a grumpy expression settling into the faint lines of his face. "The violas happened."

It's at that very fateful moment when you spot a familiar head of blindingly orange hair, the owner's figure hunched over a polished bass like a protective parent guarding their nest. Standing next to him is a tall blond who you recognize as someone who had been in your college preparatory classes back in high school. It's a wonder that so many Karasuno students had wriggled their ways into the heart of Tokyo education. You haven't spoken to him since last year in one of your math classes, so it's as refreshing as a glass of lemonade garnished with a sprig of mint to see him again.

"Are you kidding me? At least I don't play _viola_ ," snorts Hinata, shooting Tsukishima a look. "You're like the Walmart version of violins-"

Tsukishima sneers at him, though you know him well enough to know that Hinata's comment must have annoyed the violist. "Can you even play an instrument that's bigger than you?"

"It's not bigger than me, you-"

"You idiots!" seethes Kageyama, and the entire room halts, freezing in place with fear. "Stop messing around! We have a guest who will be evaluating a few pieces today!"

All their gazes settle on your warm form, and you shrink to the size of a coin under their scrutiny. "Oh, I remember you! We went to high school together, right?" chirps Hinata, bouncing over towards you as his bass is shoved into Tsukishima's hands. "Say, didn't you use to play piano? I think I've been to one of your recitals before."

"You have?" you ask, amazed that he even remembers.

The formerly-weeping musician at the piano wipes away her tears, her copper eyes widening with recognition. "...The Demon Pianist of Miyagi?" she murmurs uncertainly. "I thought she had quit..."

What?

"...Piano Princess," you correct her as gently as you can. "Did people call me that...?"

Clearly uneasy, she refuses to answer, glancing back towards her sheet music and acting very, _very_ busy. Even Hinata winces, sending you a sympathetic look as he returns back to his precious bass, snatching it away from his blonde friend like it's made of pure gold and not maple wood.

Tsukishima calls your name. "You said you haven't played piano in years," he points out, frowning. "But you'll be evaluating us?" he sounds incredibly unconvinced, moving his gaze towards the obsidian-haired conductor next to you. 

"I guess I am...?" you look towards Kageyama for confirmation. You had been under the impression that you'd just be watching in the practice.

Eyes wide and slightly guilty, the violinist turns away from you, refusing to make eye contact with you. Upon seeing his reaction, Tsukishima snorts. From the corners of your eyes, you can see underclassmen exchange poorly-concealed whispers to each other and upperclassmen eye you in curiosity upon hearing that title of yours.

"A-anyways, let's work on the Bach piece, starting from measure five," Kageyama manages to sputter out, avoiding the flames of your gaze as he scrambles towards the music stand. 

A student raises his hand. "I don't _care_ if you broke your D string from an argument or if you've misplaced your sheet music. You shouldn't have started fighting like that in the first place," Kageyama huffs, sending a glare so potent that the student immediately lowers his hand in fear.

Murmurs sweep over the musicians as they settle into their chairs, gingerly picking up the remnants of their music and instruments at Kageyama's command. To your surprise, most instruments are still in pristine condition, apart from the damaged cello string. On the other hand, the sheets of music look crumpled as students pathetically attempt to keep the pages in tact.

Once the orchestra has finally settled into place, Kageyama's eyes drift over to your figure, as if demanding you to watch him.

You're too curious, and you find yourself in an empty seat..

His hands fly high, reaching an apex before they shoot downwards in a powerful manner then to the sides. Immediately, the players follow his absolute command. The deliberate flicks of his wrist cut through the heavy air, like he's a top surgeon, and you realize this is the first time you've seen him perform something since middle school. Exuding confidence with every motion of his hands, his conducting is like a form of visual poetry that you can't tear your eyes away from.

It's a shame that such a talented conductor is stuck with an undeniably mediocre orchestra.

 _They've only been practicing for less than a month_ , you try to remind yourself. _Of course they'll sound bad. It's only natural-_

Your ears are shot with the worst set of chords that sound like nails on crystal glass, shrieking in horror as the cellos fall behind the natural tempo the inexperienced percussionists have set. Now startled, the violins falter, falling flat as Kageyama flips the page. Crashing and burning with their higher counterparts, the violas squeak brusquely, throwing the winds off balance as the conductor looks absolutely annoyed with the incompetence of his orchestra.

It's the longest fifteen minutes of your life, and when they all turn to you for your review, you show them absolutely no mercy, ruthlessly reciting exactly what you had been thinking. Even if they haven't been practicing for long, they're still supposed to be top-tier musicians at an esteemed musician.

You think you can see a young flute player shed a tear as you brutally evaluate every measure and triplet they've forsaken, but you keep going until Kageyama is scratching his head. Upon saying your last moment of criticism, he dismisses his colleagues, promising that he'll play alongside them instead of conducting them next time.

The pianist from before avoids you like the plague as the others scamper out the room in exhaustion and fear, scattering like autumn leaves in the breeze or puffs of dandelion drifting into the sky. 

"What was that?"

Kageyama frowned. "Dr. Handa said I could conduct practice today, but..."

"You guys _sucked_."

The tips of his ears grow red. "...I know that," he grumbles out, crossing his arms. "But _I_ don't suck," he points out.

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure some of your bassists don't even know how to count," you groan, massaging your temples. "Why did you tell me to watch your practice when they clearly aren't ready yet?"

If even possible, his ears and cheeks blossom into a deeper scarlet. "I thought..."

"If you think this would have convinced me into being your accompanist, I think it had the opposite effect," you continue, placing your hands on your hips. 

"That's not why I told you to come!" he protests, closing his folder of sheet music. "It's cause... uh..."

"Spit it out, Tobio-kun."

The navy-eyed man mumbles something, and you can't hear even though the room is as empty as your heart after a long day.

"I can't hear you," you groan, crossing your arms over your chest. "You torture me for fifteen straight minutes of horrible playing, and-"

"God, I-I just wanted to impress you," he spits out harshly, interrupting you. "And show you how much I've grown. Happy? Moron."

You pause. A smile wiggles its way onto your lips. "...Oh?"

Kageyama grimaces, a scowl playing at his bottom lip. "Shut up. _"_

 _"_ You wanted to _impress_ me?"

" _Shut up_."


	5. cantabile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cantabile: song-like playing or singing expressively

"So, you've been out and about recently."

Your head snaps up from the plethora of crinkled, college-ruled notebook paper resting in your hands. "Huh?"

Shirabu shrugs, leaning back in his chair as he takes the back of his 0.38 mm tipped pen in between his teeth. "Just saying- we study every Tuesday and Thursday, but you haven't been at the library as often anymore. You aren't blowing off your schoolwork or studies, are you? I thought you were here on a scholarship," lectures your upperclassman as the pen twirls between his slender fingers.

You nearly wince at his icy statement- you _are_ here on a physics scholarship, and while your grades haven't been slipping, it's been getting difficult to manage your time lately. The forces keeping you up at night are invisible concepts of mechanics and formulas, and you've started to see music notes sprinkled into your formulas. At this point, you aren't sure what rules or commands your world is based off of, whether if it's concrete science or whimsical orchestral pieces. Everything about music theory that had been vaulted off had recently surfaced, struggling against the bottled emotions you had once suppressed, and it's a little frightening to think about.

"I'm not slacking off," you defended, waving the stack of papers in emphasis. "I've been doing all my work and turning things on time!"

He studies you for a few, brief moments. "I bet you're using up your sleep-time to finish your work then," he guesses. "What? You don't think I haven't noticed your dark circles?" he asks, amused when you gape at him.

"Well, I've just been busier than usual," you murmur hotly, rubbing away at your fatigued eyes.

"Are you working a new job?" he asks before a small smirk slips onto his lips. "Or maybe you're just busy with that violinist from the other day...?"

Almost immediately, the embarrassment of your cheeks crescendos into a burst of flaming shame, singing your skin with scarlet and pink. You hadn't realized that your sharp-eyed senpai had actually noticed since the two had only met for those brief minutes back when Kageyama had first approached you. Judging by the mirthful look in your companion's eyes, he must have figured out where you had been going in the scarce free time in your schedule. Whereas you had thought you had started slipping away in pieces, in reality, he had been able to figure it out all at once.

"He's a childhood friend of mine," you protest, slamming the papers down on the table.

"We've been friends for a few years, but if you ever stared at me the way you stare at him, I'd probably smack the back of your head," he points out, wagging his pen in front of his face. "Didn't you say you had plans for dinner today? I bet it's with him, right?"

Blinking, you check the time. 6:03 PM. In around seven minutes, Kageyama would be picking you up in front of the library like the two of you had planned yesterday. Recently, you've been spending your evenings with the sapphire-eyed man, but nothing ever happens. The most action implemented has been listening to classical or baroque pieces during dinner or study sessions- nothing else. You figure he'd die before he ever saw you as more than a friend, and it's a strangely depressing thought that refuses to leave you, instead clinging onto your skeleton.

"It's just dinner!"

Shirabu looks at you skeptically, amber eyes slightly judgmental. "You shouldn't lie to your elders," retorts the medical student. "Dinner then 'sight-reading' at his place."

You pout, groaning. "It really is just sight-reading," you admit, your tone coming out much more disappointed than you had anticipated. "He'll never see me as a woman."

"Oh," is his pitiful reply as his eyes widen. "Sorry, uh, you should still have hope?" he suggests, drumming his fingers on his laptop. "I mean, you've been seeing him everyday for the past week, so either he's an ultra music nerd or he must like you to some extent, right?"

"He's the biggest music nerd, unfortunately," you mutter. "Sometimes I feel like he's still lowkey trying to convince me to be his accompanist- I mean, once I was over at his, and we stayed up 'dawn just to analyze his newest orchestral piece. It's killing me!" you whine to your friend. "He's always been the worst person to have a crush on."

"So you're admitting your crush on him?"

Realization seeps into your blood vessels. "I guess," you admit, placing your head in your hands. "I've had one on him when we were younger, but maybe it never really went away."

"So then why don't you accompany him to his recital? You're a smart girl," encourages Shirabu. "You'll get closer to him and woo him over with your piano playing skills, right?"

"Because it _hurts_ , Senpai! How am I supposed to play with a boy who will never take me seriously?"

Again, he looks skeptical. "And hanging out with him all night is the better choice?" he snidely replies. "Well, it's your choice..."

The words on the tip of your tongue falter, melting away like a popsicle on a warm summer's day. They disappear in an instant at his retort as you realize that maybe he's right. How is seeing Kageyama for practically the entire evening every single day any better than subjecting yourself to practicing with him for his recital? The only difference is that while the two of you still talk about music, you aren't playing alongside the cry of his violin.

That's right.

"At least this way, he'll start to see me as an actual friend than just some pianist from home," you mention mindlessly as you place your papers and folders into your backpack. "I mean, in middle school, I was convinced that was all he saw me as..."

Shirabu scoffs. "He was a dumb child- I doubt he'll see you as only a musician now that the two of you have grown up. Hurry up and go see him, will you? Sounds like the both of you are dumb."

"You are the worst friend and upperclassman I've ever had. Have I told you that?"

"Good," is his only retort as he returns to his cell biology textbook.

After sticking out your tongue at your cherished friend, your strides take you towards the marble, library entrance, where the heat of evening air smacks your face in an unexpected welcome in comparison to the gentle embrace of air conditioning. Like he had promised, Kageyama stands by the gaudy statue of some old historian mounted by the university as he fiddles with his phone, presumably sending an angry text to Hinata or Tsukishima by the way he glares at the screen.

"What's gotten into you, Tobio-kun?" you greet him, peering down at the screen.

"I ordered us some food from the pizza place nearby, and it came to our dorm a few minutes ago. Tsukishima just texted me saying dumbass-Hinata ate it all," Kageyama grumbles, finishing off his angry text. "Sorry."

"Why don't we go to mine? My dorm doesn't have a kitchen attached to my room like yours does since it isn't suite-styled, but there's a main kitchen on the first floor," you suggest, adjusting the straps of your book bag. "I don't have any roommates since I live in a single, but I have frozen pizza in my mini-freezer if that works with you. It's not much, but it doesn't taste too bad..."

He mutters something under his breath, eyes darting away from your face.

"What was that?" you ask.

Again, the ghosts of his mutters can't be heard, and you lean in closer.

"I need you to repeat that, Tobio-kun-"

"Anything tastes good with you," he finally says, fixating his gaze on the ground. "W-we should hurry before it gets dark."

You've died and have been reborn in less than five seconds, and suddenly, the crimson glow on your cheeks rivals the light of the setting sun. You pray to every deity in existence that he can't notice or won't look back at you, so an awkward, choked-sounding choke escapes the grasps of your throat in response. A simple squeak of agreement is all you can muster out, and before you know it, the two of you are slowly walking towards your dorm as your heart jumps in the shelter of his presence. In comparison, the normally warm breeze feels cold on your blazing face, and you welcome the dispersal of thermodynamic equilibrium on your cheeks.

The world comes to life when he looks at you again. The leaves dance with joy. The smell of gasoline and your perfume is hot on your nose. It's warm.

It's strange how at peace you feel when you're with him again. Before, the stresses of competitions and deadlines had been oh so prominent in your lives, even as small middle schoolers. The accumulation of anxiety had been overbearing at one point, and it's almost unsettling to realize that all of it is in the past. In the moment, you're with a brand new Kageyama, a brand new you, and a brand new friendship that sends your heart into jitters. It feels unreal, powerful, and liberating; it makes your fingers itch with an urge to play that you're forced to hide for the time being.

As he patiently waits in the main kitchen, which is surprisingly empty, you take the elevator up to the sixth floor, where your room is. It's homey, warm, and best of all, yours. In the corner is a small refrigerator with a sizable freezer section, where you keep a few mini pizzas for days like these. After dusting off the ice on the top pizza, you pull out the remainder of your two pizzas and hurry back down to the kitchen.

"I have pepperoni and sausage," you offer, immediately pre-heating the oven to the instructed temperature.

"Wanna go half?" he suggests, turning to you with those impossibly azure eyes of his.

 _He's prettier than me_ , you note.

A smile graces your lips. "I knew we were friends for a reason."

This brings a smile of his own to his face. It's soft, genuine, and handsome. In the past, he had always had trouble with smiling; in fact, tons of your peers had chastised him for having such a demonic looking smile, saying he needed to learn how to smile properly if he was going to force it. Personally, you never had a problem with the way he smiled, even if it was forced. But now, looking at the way a real smile curves on his face sends a jolt of lightning up your spine. The only thing "demonic" about it now is the way it's so devilishly handsome, almost like he knows something you don't.

"Yeah," he responds, almost nervously. "We are friends, aren't we?"

You raise an eyebrow. "You tell me. You don't sound too convinced."

His gaze drops. "Uh... we are?"

Something squeezes your heart. "We are, aren't we?" you ask uncertainly.

"Y-yeah!" he sputters, eyes widening at your hesitance. "I mean, I just wanted to confirm it with you... We haven't been talking for too long, and I just, uh..."

"Yeah," you agree. "I get it. I still consider you my friend now."

There's a look of relief that passes by his eyes, like the fluttering wings of butterflies. "We're friends," he repeats lamely. "So uh, as a friend, I want to ask you something."

The cold pizzas feel like permafrost on your hands before you place them into the oven to cook. The way he had said that statement almost makes you nervous, and you have to force down the stone in your throat before speaking. "Um, okay... Is something up?"

He scratches the back of his head, averting his gaze. "So, I've been invited to a symphony by the university for my efforts. I have an extra ticket to invite a friend, but uh, I don't know if I wanna bring Hinata or Tsukishima with me," he confesses.

"Oh, wow!" you exclaim, clasping your hands together as you close the oven door. "Big shot in the musical field, huh? Congratulations. Which symphony is it?"

"Tokyo Philharmonic."

"Tobio-kun, those are expensive! You scored big time," you praise, beaming at him. "So who are you going to take?"

There's a nervous smile on his face, and this time it's clearly strained. "I was kind of hoping you'd be that friend to go with me."

A drop in your stomach. A rise in your heart. A jab of pain to your chest. The fluttering of your blood. You aren't quite sure how to exactly feel. Out of all people, he wants to invite _you_ to such a classy symphony- like it's a date, but it clearly isn't if he keeps referring to you as a friend and as a friend only.

"I'd love to go," you respond, ignoring the twisting of your heart.

He looks relieved. "It's this Saturday... I know it's a short notice, but I only got the tickets just yesterday."

"But why me?" you ask, confused.

Kageyama looks just as confused before he looks at the ceiling. "Who else would it be, idiot?"

**Author's Note:**

> the sunset is where you go.


End file.
